


Gifts weighted with obligation

by Kartaylir, Rhak-skuri (axoim)



Series: Black Codex: Files Not Found [3]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Background Vette, Gen, Pre-Relationship, These idiots need to build up a decade of pining first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 16:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21654268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kartaylir/pseuds/Kartaylir, https://archiveofourown.org/users/axoim/pseuds/Rhak-skuri
Summary: Too injured for field work after apprehending Darth Jadus, Cipher Nine is given a smaller assignment. She's to aid and observe an old friend who's just graduated the Sith Academy, the man who will be Darth Baras' newest apprentice.
Series: Black Codex: Files Not Found [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1521593
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

Cipher Nine had never liked Korriban, even when she visited the planet in another life, under another name. It was all dour buildings and red dust, with hatred seething through every piece of worn stone. The Sith might rule on Dromund Kaas, but here their power here had seeped into every plant and portion of earth, and they knew it.

As she knew how weak she looked.That the unmarked uniform intelligence had given her couldn’t quite hide the patches of Kolto across her back and limbs, let alone the limp as she walked across the spaceport, the all too punishing bursts of pain from bones and burns that hadn’t yet healed.. The case she held didn’t help, the metal of it heavy around the cortosis alloy that protected the cargo inside. One could bombard the spaceport and the case from orbit; the gift within it would probably survive.

Still, she kept her pace slow and careful. Tarron Wrathrend had been the closest thing she’d had to an ally, before. The one person she placed some trust in within all of Darth Azoi’s household. But she knew all too well that Korriban might have changed or broken him. Might have shattered the discipline of the young man she’d known. The rumors she’d heard spoke mostly of all the deaths that stained his hands. Beyond that she could not guess at how much of him had been destroyed on these sands.

And yet he’d likely survived better than she had. Few of the sith could have pulled her from intelligence for even such a delivery as this, were it not for how much of her work her injuries could keep her from. She’d been a fool to hope she could avoid being enmeshed in their politics yet again.

At least they’d not wasted her time on small gifts.

There was a bottleneck in the crowd before her, something crashed to the ground while shrill voices swore in Huttese. So she stepped to the side, let herself rest against the wall for a moment. It would not do to be trapped in the press of bodies before her. She took slow breaths, every one of them practiced and controlled. Her ship at least would be ready when they returned, scrubbed clean of dust by Vector and the droid. Kaliyo at least remained on Dromund Kaas for debriefing. And there was relief in that; the Rattataki wasn’t the most...polite of company.

The crowd ahead dissipated, and she stepped forward once again. If she was to have a new leash, then best to know how long it was.

Korriban’s red dust had infested the spaceport also, the metal of its exterior rubbed raw by sandstorms and age. Outside, the massive peaks of Sith pyramids stretched skyward like a mountain range, with the spire of the Sith Academy towering above them all. The howling wind only just drowned out the distant shouts and occasional animal’s cry. 

It was beautiful in its own way, for the dignified temples hid much of the senseless brutality performed in their shadows. 

And then she caught sight of Tarron on the path before her, as red as the sands that surrounded him. He seemed as battered as any of the acolytes, unbathed from the dust and grit packed onto his skin. His hair had grown long enough to drape down past the spikes of his brow. Stains of kolto lined one exposed arm, his apprentices’ armor damaged and worn. A dark band of bruises wound its way around his neck. A reminder of the sort of injuries she’d so often seen on herself in the mirror.

The youth she’d once met all those years ago now seemed only a shadow of what he had become, a disciplined child still grasping for maturity. That he was older than her by a year had been difficult to grasp when she’d first come to this Empire where near everyone aged slower than Chiss. Now she could believe it from how he carried himself with pride, his body filled out with muscle beneath his armor. Even the roundness of youth had fled from his face to leave his features elegant and angular. 

He smiled when he saw her.

And that expression at least was near the same as what she remembered of him. Only then did she realize how much tension she’d carried in with her, in stiffened shoulders and aching arms, the echo of gritted teeth in the line of her jaw.

She could say whether such worry was more for him or her; for the thought Korriban had twisted him or the fear that it would not need to. But there was no darkness revealed in his yellow eyes. Just her friend with the last remnants of his childhood stripped away. 

_He’ll need jewelry_, she thought, as she knelt on the old stones before him. A thousand little details to fit his new station. The pathway beneath her was long worn smooth and yet the pressure of it against her injured leg made the wounds sting anew.

“I’ve brought a gift from your mother, my lord,” she said, and held the case out before her. The weight of it was near enough to make her topple forward, and her arms wavered. She forced them still. Cast her gaze up toward him as she attempted to focus through the pain.

If she collapsed it would only be a question of the scale of her punishment. 

When he took the case from her, his expression shifted to an all too familiar mixture of interest and resignation. His mother’s gifts were ever perils and lessons in one. Perhaps he expected something other than a lightsaber on the inside, but the weapon he lifted out was beautiful and elegant. Its swept hilt was a weave of curls and engraved details, plated in gold that glittered under Korriban’s burning sun. Compared to the utilitarian weapon at his belt, it was a piece of art. Almost gaudy in contrast with his tattered clothes. 

“Wow, fancy.” A Twi’lek had stepped up and him peered over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. Her cheery tones cut through any solemnity the moment had held. 

He seemed to ignore her, his focus still on the lightsaber in his hand. “Thank you,” he said, the words polite but not cold. He tested the weight of the weapon in his hand, and the Cipher could see a gap in its construction where a lightsaber crystal might be placed. 

He looked down at her and gestured for her to rise. That took longer than she had hoped; her legs felt weak beneath her, her body ached. She felt a flicker of worry as his spined eyebrows draw together for a moment. He didn’t say anything, yet, instead stepped aside to indicate the Twi’lek.

“This is Vette. She’ll be accompanying me.” 

Vette wore a slave collar around her neck, but then few aliens came to Korriban as other than acolytes or slaves. The collar at least was fitted well, and the almost-faded lines of burns on the Twi’lek’s neck indicated it had not seen too recent of use. Another gift then, no doubt from someone of status among the Sith. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Vette,” Cipher Nine said, and for a moment something other than a perfect Dromund Kaas accent crept through her words. She offered Vette a polite nod; intelligence had granted her new authority but such could not remove the memories of all the leashes she’d worn before.

Her arms still groaned with the memory of the case, but such did not keep her from noticing the curious look Vette gave her at the lack of a reciprocal introduction. A slave was unlikely to be familiar with the ways in which Darth Azoi had used her agents, the ways Imperial Intelligence remade them.

They’d excised all her names now, her core name along with those that had reflected her family, her house. She was just a Cipher, distinct from the others only in that she was not human.

If her work pleased them, she expected they’d deem her ghost a human as well, deny what she was for the sake of their own narratives. Cipher agents rarely survived long enough to edit their own history. 

Tarron smoothed over the moment with a reassuring glance at Vette, then spoke again. “Darth Baras expects me as soon as possible—let’s not make him wait.” He gestured loosely with the case. “Lead on.” 

One step, and then the weight of their eyes upon her felt almost tangible as she stumbled. She managed to brace herself with one hand, gritted her teeth as her injured leg crashed against dust and stone. None of the crowd about them paid her much mind, no doubt they’d seen slaves collapsed on these steps before.

She looked up to see Tarron as he stepped up beside her and silently offered his arm. Vette glanced between the two of them but did not comment.

A few of the crowd finally turned to stare, curious perhaps, or jealous of a mere apprentice with two such servants at his disposal. But he simply supported her weight and said nothing, and the Cipher forced herself toward enough composure to could lead them back to her ship.

She leaned into his support the entire way; allowed it to cast away her earlier fears. Words mattered far less than all the clarity of his actions.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What might have been a calm trip to between old friends is instead clouded by new roles and half-suspected revelations.

The ship was sleek and gray on the outside, its panelling illuminated by a few hints of blue light. Turrets were set on either side of the short wings, and for all appearances it could have been a diplomatic vessel, or the transport of some notable civil servant. 

At first, there was little to dispel that illusion inside. It was polished and blue-gray there as well, with a droid attendant keen to offer Tarron anything he might need. It had a meeting room and crew quarters, along with other equally fine examples of the usual amenities.

It was the computers that most clearly hinted at its true purpose. An abundance of screens tucked away in the corner of one room he didn’t enter. The way Ashann had to allow him through six levels of security before the Captain’s quarters will open without her presence. 

She excused herself after that, to prepare their route to Dromund Kaas. And to ensure that Vette’s presence couldn’t set off too many alarms.

The droid in its turn was quick to grant Tarron a more extensive tour. Details of the ship amenities and crew quarters, followed by offers to attend to whatever food or environment he might desire. It did not speak of the other capacities of the vessel: the speed of the engines, the security of its systems, or the strength of its weapons.

After which he found himself in the conference room again, where a black-eyed man sat listening to Alderaanian opera. 

It was some time later that he looked up from the decorative data discs before him to see Ashann standing in the doorway. At some point Vette had moved to stand in a corner behind them, her head tilted as if she wasn’t quite sure what to make of the scene.

“Agent,” Vector said, standing. He gave Tarron a polite nod and then started toward the door. “We were just going to go finish up our report.” Then, to Tarron, “We hope you enjoy the opera.”

It was a polite enough excuse, but then the man had been a diplomat, hadn’t he? Ashann in turn took one of the empty seats across the table. She was moving slowly still, with a precision that almost managed to hide the impact of her injuries.

“Intelligence has been very generous,” she said, motioning at the room, the ship around them. “They granted me this vessel when I was promoted to Cipher Nine. My...previous life doesn’t officially exist now.” Her voice changed a little at that, dropping the Dromund Kaas accent for something flavored with the familiar density of Cheunh. Enough openness for him to sense a hint of pride layered amid hesitation. To feel a touch of loss at what the new position asked of her. There were few Ciphers indeed, but then most Sith frowned on the prospect those without the Force having any capacity to challenge them.

“I had wondered.” He looked up from the discs, having been turning one over in his hand. “But congratulations are in order: I am glad Intelligence saw the quality of your work.” It was a very general sort of praise, but that was how it had to be; he knew not to pry into business that wasn’t his, however curious his glance was. He smiled again after a moment. “I am sure Darth Azoi was upset to lose you.” 

“You’re most kind,” she said, ducking her head slightly at the compliment. “But I expect she was more preoccupied with the loss of Darth Jadus; I know she’d hoped to have him train you.”

Her voice softened to something more than mere propriety. Concern, tinged with the inquiry neither of them could speak aloud. “I’m told Darth Baras has many talents to commend him. I’ve no doubt his instruction will serve you well.”

“No doubt.” His gaze returned to the data disc, brow furrowed. It was after a moment’s hesitation that he elaborated. “We have some differences of opinion. Regardless, I hope to prove my effectiveness.” 

Her spine stiffened, she pressed her lips together as if that aggravated another unseen injury. “I’ve no doubt you can prove such, my lord. Though the length of the process may depend on the precise nature of such differences.” The raise of one black eyebrow was the only question she offered.

“There were several other contenders, one of whom had vied for the position for years. Unfortunately, he did not take my selection well.” Instead of elaborating, he gestured to his torn armor, the freshly kolto-covered wounds underneath. They were much fresher than the rest of the notches and cuts covering his armor, the bruises fading round the other wounds. 

“It’s a pity,” he said, finally setting the discs aside. “Many a talented student lies dead in those tombs.” 

She answered only with stillness and silence.

“I’d like to bathe and change,” he said, “if you’ve the facilities available.” 

“Of course, my lord.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Let me show you to them. The ship will now grant you full access to such facilities.”

Once that was done, she vanished back into her work, with a promise to emerge once tasks and flight plans were done. Such granted quite enough time for him to take advantage of the proper shower—the pretense of a diplomat’s vessel extended to better facilities than a mere sonic shower.

He was in the central room of the ship when she returned, his armor gone in favor of a well-tailored ensemble of silks and brocade. The silk shimmered softly in the light of the holoprojector. 

Tarron was kneeling, hands on his knees. Before him, the lightsaber lay in pieces - hilt carefully separated from the power module and the kyber crystal. He was regarding each with a deep intensity, only breaking his gaze at the soft sound of her footsteps. 

“My lord?” she said, and there was a tinge of curiosity in her voice.

“The Jedi assemble their lightsabers this way, or so I’ve been told.” He didn’t look up to her, but kept his tone calm. “I wondered if I might do the same.” 

There was a gentle noise as she leaned back against the wall. The rustle of the bandages that extended out to cover her shoulders. “I cannot say I know of their traditions in such matters, but their weapons function as well as those of the Sith. In my experience, it is their combat training that fails the Jedi rather than their lightsabers.”

“Perhaps.” He picked up the crystal, turning it over in his hand. It was a deep, blood red, the facets glinting deep purple as the blue light hit them. It was beautifully shaped—made professionally, no doubt. His brow furrowed, the subtle shift by his bone plating and spines reflected in the crystal before him. “I’ve yet to face any of them. I can only hope my fellow students served their purpose.” 

After all, they’d trained him to survive. To kill frightened slaves and overconfident noble scions, not trained masters of the Force. But that was the Sith way of things. One found their weaknesses and strengths in battle. Philosophy came after bloodshed. 

He lowered his hand, but the crystal remained in midair, floating gently as he turned his focus to the other parts. The emitter and hilt rose next, drifting slowly to the crystal til all laid roughly in sequence, crystal between the two. 

The crystal and hilt slid together, housing covering the gem. It came to rest with a series of soft clicking sounds. The crystal rotated to the left, the right, forward again—

The clatter of the emitter hitting the deck seemed to echo in the quiet ship. Tarron pressed his lips into a line, glancing at her for a half-second before he let his breath out gently.

“Pardon. I’ll not be the most conversational til this is done.” 

“I’ll be in the medbay should you need me, my lord.” 

Tarron had already closed his eyes, moving from a kneeling position into the lotus, his elbows on his knees, hands apart. He heard the brief chime of a door, and then only the hum of the ship’s systems.

The emitter rose again a moment later and his emotions shrank away. He’d been hiding his embarrassment, his annoyance, his relief at leaving Korriban, his pain and his comfort...all shrank away, swallowed by a warm void. The pieces were stationary in the air as he went still. 

And then he was lost in the embrace of the Force for what could have been hours. Focusing lenses shifted a fraction at a time, slowly twirling into their place before the power cell. The crystal tilted, back, forward, spun on its axis and then laid still in the air. Circuitry spun slowly into place before it, guided by the most delicate lines of energy. Far beyond what could be touched by mere hands. 

A thin layer of metal wrapped itself around this, twisted slightly as the endcap hooked into place. The delicate curves of the handle were matched by carefully etched grooves along the grip. 

Eventually the saber in front of him appeared complete; the emitter twisted one way and another, the machine’s fiber connections slotting carefully into place. Behind it he wasn’t still; instead he floated gently, moving subtly up and down, side to side. 

He heard the sound of a footstep placed wrong, a hand braced against the wall, a sharp exhale of wounded breath that was silenced after an instant.

Despite her efforts to be quiet, he stirred, eyes slowly opening. It took a long moment for his gaze to focus on her, his gaze in the middle distance. He could see the gentle light of the glow that surrounded him, that lit his hands and cast shadows in the corners of the room. And at that sight, the glow faded, as if it had never been. 

“Hm?” The sound was a questioning one. He took in her stance, the pain on her face, and frowned. The finished saber flew to his outstretched hand. 

“You’re injured.” It wasn’t a question this time. “You ought to rest.”

“This is rest for me, my lord.” She looked down at the floor and pointedly kept her gaze away from both him and the newly-constructed lightsaber. “Intelligence would not see me idle. But if you insist perhaps I could work on my reports instead; it may be best if I ensure they’ve a certain finesse to them. ”

“I insist, then.” He got to his feet, adjusting his clothing to smooth out the wrinkles. “Consider it an order, if you must.” 

“Of course,” she said, and bowed deeply before him. Enough that he could see just a hint of her body shaking at the movement. For her next words she switched to Cheunh. “I’ll be sure to note your dedication to your studies; I expect certain members of the Dark Council are paying particular attention to that matter.”

There was a tension amid those words, pronunciation he could never duplicate. A whisper that hinted at what she might have said with just a different emphasis to the syllables.

A word of caution. The Sith cared so little for the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 will be out on approximately March 6.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sights of Dromund Kaas are overshadowed by a summons from Darth Baras, by his interest in keeping his own affairs from the eyes of others.

The rain poured down around the spaceport as they landed, the never-ending flow of water distorting the crimson lights of Kaas City in the distance.

Their landing had been quicker than most; ships that had arrived before them still circled in the sky above in waiting. It seemed Darth Baras was impatient. From what Ashann had said her own check-ins with Imperial Intelligence were matters of little urgency.

Most of the citizens and soldiers milling about the spaceport were quick to move out of Tarron’s way. Ashann and Vette trailed behind him, and the former seemed a bit steadier on her feet after a few further hours of Kolto and rest.

It was only a scrawny human clad in dull gray who did not dart out of the way. As they strode closer he all but threw himself at Tarron’s feet.

“My lord,” he said. “Lord Baras tasked me with finding one who radiated such power. You could not be mistaken amid the scabs around you; I bow before you.” 

Vette seemed to nearly roll her eyes back into her skull at that.

Tarron’s stony expression took on an air of surprise, eyebrows rising. He gestured for the man to rise, and after a moment of silence, the man clambered to his feet. Voice quivering, shallow cheeks and dark-ringed eyes emphasized by the harsh lighting, he quickly continued his message.

“I serve Lord Baras. He sent me to meet his newest apprentice. And so I made sure I was here on time! I certainly did. Yes indeed.”

“Then you have succeeded.” Tarron’s tone was careful. The man’s gaze darted too and fro, barely meeting Tarron’s eyes before he quickly looked down. “What does Lord Baras desire?” 

The man interlaced his fingers, shoulders hunched together. His every fiber radiated submission: a man reduced to this shivering, grovelling creature. 

“I’m just a slave who owes his every breath to the tolerance of Lord Baras.” He seemed at once to be reminding himself of that; he continued quickly. “He said to introduce you to Dromund Kaas. I take that task very seriously.” 

“So I see.” He could all but feel the expression Vette was making, the way the Twi’lek glanced at Ashann, incredulous. “Do introduce me, then.” 

“Yes, yes. Lord Baras—he ordered me to encourage you to explore Kaas City before reporting to him. The guards, they keep everything in order. Keep the rest of us in order. But they won’t bother you. They couldn’t dare.” The slave looked to the rows of Imperial check-in stations and the long lines that awaited any save the Sith. Officers manned every station, and armed guards in Imperial armor watched over the doors. “When you’re ready, Lord Baras will meet you in his personal chambers.” 

Tarron’s hands were on his hips, then, one finger tapping his belt. It wasn’t clear if he was insulted by the man or not, or simply annoyed at his repetitions. Despite his body language, his tone was respectful. “I see. Thank you.” 

The slave perked up a bit, which mostly ensured he no longer seemed likely to dissolve into the floor. “You, uh, you will tell Lord Baras I was good, yes? That I served well?”

Tarron leaned back a bit ,then nodded once, curtly. “You did as your Lord instructed. I can find no fault in that.” 

“Oh, thank you, oh gentle juggernaut!” The man threw himself to the floor again. “I bow my head ‘til you depart.” 

After a moment’s pause to take that in, Tarron stepped around the kneeling man, and quickly beelined for the elevators. His stride was faster than it’d been before. Vette and Ashann adjusted their stride to follow after. Vette didn’t wait til they were out of earshot to comment. 

“What,” she said, “was _that_? What a weasel.”

Ashann, for her part, was silent a little longer. Enough that her words would not be overheard, even through the softness of her tone. “He’d be dead if he wasn’t one. It’s traditional to insist one’s slaves be overly obsequious.” 

There was a weight behind her words that seemed untouched by the distance of time. Vette shuffled her feet uncomfortably in response. Things then fell silent for a few minutes as they made their way from the spaceport. None of the other travelers seemed keen to stand in their way, or even close to it. 

It was only once they were outside, with the view of the jungle before them, that Ashann spoke again. “I could recommend some restaurants for later, my lord. Among them the Chiss locations I’d mentioned previously. And whatever else of tour you’d wish for after that.” She looked upward as raindrops fell upon her cheeks. “I expect Darth Baras does not wish to wait long for your arrival.”

“Agreed. I would rather not keep my Master waiting,” Tarron affirmed, heading for the speeder station.

That platform looked out over the dark jungles, the deep purples and blues of the foliage only accented by the regular lighting strikes on the nearby spires. The near-constant crash of thunder melted in with the thrum of life, ship engines and voices blending to create an omnipresent rumbling. It made the planet both beautiful and deeply unsettling. 

Massive spires and dark metal made Kaas City nearly blend in with the rest of the landscape as they approached, but the sheer bulk of the Sith Citadel overwhelmed everything around it; it loomed over the rest of the city, seemingly watching the coming and going of everyone. It could be seen from anywhere in the city, the walkway to it lined with cloaked statues, their faces staring down. 

Vette turned to stare at the massive sculptures, at the slaves darting back and forth beneath the dark buildings. She didn’t say anything, but she folded her arms closer in upon herself. 

In contrast Ashann seemed familiar, almost comfortable with the crackle of light overhead, the echo of thunder. But then, she’d often been to this city, to the Citadel itself. Intelligence had its own quarters in such a place.

She led the way there in silence. The eyes of the guards lingered on the trio, but they said nothing. Barred no way as they headed in to Baras’ own stronghold within the citadel.

But then, a Sith of pure blood was hardly the sort most among them would be keen to interfere with.

Baras waited for them in what might have been any of a dozen meeting rooms. Gray and red, with little to distinguish it from the others. Not even the smallest hint of a personal touch save for the intricacy of his armor.

He stood before the table and turned to face them as the room turned colder. Ashann knelt before him. There was finally no stiffness in that gesture. Vette shivered.

“Your timing is impeccable, apprentice,” Baras said. His voice echoed through the bare metal of the room. “I see you’ve kept the slave, and found yourself a new associate as well.”

At that, Ashann bowed her head deeply. “My lord.”

“Yes.” Tarron bowed, too, but with just his upper body, arms by his side. “My family offers me several useful connections. I hope to make use of that.” 

That prompted no response from his master, not even a tilt of the head or twitch of fingers. 

Baras turned his masked visage toward Ashann a moment later, and there was no question in his voice. “You are with intelligence, are you not? Go, report to your masters.. I’m sure my apprentice can do without you until you return.”

It was a clear enough dismissal. She bowed deeper, enough so that her hair brushed the floor, and gracefully returned to her feet and left. Her footsteps were nearly silent, and whatever effort that took from her was well-hidden.

“So,” Baras said once she was gone. “Did my minion point you in the right direction regarding your new environs?”

“He did, my Lord. Exactly as you desired.” 

“Of course he did. There is no one more trustworthy than the properly beaten down slave.” Baras’ masked face seemed to look over to Vette at that, turned to face out the door through which Ashann had left.

Tarron’s face was always frosty, but it somehow froze over again, like layers of snow compacting. “It appears quite effective in his case.” 

“As it always is. There is no other sort you can trust, my enforcer. And thus you will encounter many such minions in your work. So long as my directives are fulfilled, I grant you leave to do as you will to them, or any others.” Baras lifted a hand. “My network of operatives is vast and undetected; you can intimidate my rivals and destroy my enemies without ever needing to reach outside it.”

With the man’s face covered, it was hard to grasp the intent behind that —was it a self-aggrandizement over the scope of his power, a warning to stick to his master’s side, or something in between? Korriban had been the first time he’d known that, on some level, he was disposable. To Darth Baras, he was a tool, something that could be discarded at the man’s pleasure. 

He chose the route of caution, to not reply to the unspoken. “Is that what I am to be, then? An enforcer?” 

“Yes. You will be deployed to protect my interests. A weapon to intimidate my rivals and destroy my enemies.” Baras folded his hands behind his back. “It is time for your tenure to begin.” 

He didn’t wait for a reply, returning to behind his desk, hands on its surface. “A military starship is touching down at the Kaas City cargo port, delivering a vitally important prisoner to me. You will meet Commander Lanklyn there and make sure he and his men successfully extract this prisoner.” 

Tarron raised an eyebrow, the question obvious—the Darth expected trouble. Baras inclined his head in answer. 

“We must always assume we are being plotted against. Especially when the stakes are high, for the importance of this prisoner cannot be overstated. Go to the cargo port now, and stay sharp; find some other use for your spy than my business.”

Baras turned away. “You are dismissed.”

With a final bow, Tarron turned on his heel and left the Darth’s offices, his long strides the closest he could get to speed without appearing hurried. Vette half-jogged after him, though she kept glancing over her shoulder at the dark room behind them. 

Whatever tours might be made of the city would have to wait. 

**Author's Note:**

> For the curious Tarron is indeed the Wrath referenced in some of my other works, as well as the heir of Darth Azoi as mentioned in [a payment in flesh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20409940/chapters/48414412).


End file.
